


The Boy

by xMorfium



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Shonen Ai, Slice of Life, VictUuri, Victuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:19:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xMorfium/pseuds/xMorfium
Summary: Victor finds a bo(y)x.





	1. Great absences

It was a sumptuous night: all the stars of the universe unfolded in the satin sky of the last August of the century. The wind was raging in bursts, bursting overhead with a hollow, sharp sound. There were no clouds and the moon was not yet showing. The Milky Way was an icy spot that crossed the sky from north to south. A million of millions of soles. The light of the nearest galaxy would be delayed by a million and a half Earth years. And there would be millions of galaxies, cumulus and nebulae as large as the Milky Way.

And Victor, on a small planet, in a small country, in a small city, suffering a pain as big as the entire universe.

In the center of that ostentatious, unfocused, too large and absorbed house, Victor looked at his glass of whiskey, completely detached from its roots and patriotism, and the frozen stains from the glass. He looked at the ice cubes and the oily, slow liquor flowing without mixing with the mineral water at all. What was '' that '' color? He always thought of colors different from others, it was not amber or honey that came to his memory, but time. That diluted yellow was the color of time. A sudden precipitation took him to his childhood days, in a wonderful tale where a prince wore a suit of color of time. Perhaps it was the first time he deliberately thought of a color. Yes. The time was that insatiable yellow. And he evoked remoteness and boredom.

And some sadness too.


	2. Chapter 2

At night, that house shone. A loud rumor came from their rooms. Outside, the wind carried papers, dried leaves, and rocked the branches of the sauces. Inside, the eddies of music, the tedious smell of a liquor, the husky silence of a pet. Nor did the trophies matter much, which were always a good pretext for the people, "It is a citty so cold, so petty with fun", "The champion does not go out at night", "No sale go out from home, exaggerated the citizens, also the visitors. They did not know that in that house, the night extended its tide, pine nuts and curtains, even more than in the most luminous morning. It was a secret place. Dark that a wild territory of passions, complexes, revenges, shame and deep desires in tranquility. That a tenacious night invaded all areas of life. Because in that house, nothing was what it seemed to be.

And so, one night of solitude, it was not a night of solitude.

The skater knew this well, wandering around his glass of whiskey and clinging to that absurd rite of wanting it all to end at once. The gold smiled at him, some medals winked at him, but no one dared to ask him for the emptiness of celestial orbs, there, on that shelf of memories of victories, there was nothing of art. If only they had a little feeling, a line of color. But no.

Victor was ashamed of his lack of defeats, he felt ridiculous and silly. How could he make the hysterical cries of his soul not appear before others as a mere appearance, like a petty gesture of theater? There was no way. As always, his truth was not that of others.

He ran way. He sought refuge among the silk sheets, comfortable and soft and clean ... and alone. The pressure grew. Victor desperately sought in the inert silence of his room for any reason, which emerge from that initial emptiness that it was eating, and its walls scream at him to sleep, that there is no reason or meaning either. Perhaps the truth of others turned to his. Resentful of himself, cursed, darkened, the need for crying overcame, and ...

A sound, the sharp and sound sound. Someone knocked at his door at dawn itself. He let it ring once more before answering.

What was found at the entrance to heaven, alcohol would never make you imagine such a scene. He has not taken his hair like he had ever done. The brittle body of a person, more specifically a small boy was shown, collected and folded in the bottom of a suitcase box, the darkness of the street without the permission to scrutinize beyond the dirt bleeding of his clothes, and the swirl that formed a dark mane curved in the corner of the carton. The Russian tried to get back to reality, but his vision did not change.

His head turned his head and head towards the sidewalks of the street, behind the anguish that was ravaging him, the deepest torment emerged. Sighs, rattling, shaking, several came out of his body as from the bottom of the earth. Impossible Take an image in your entry as in a dark tale. He had to call the police. He had to leave the body. He had to go home alone. He did not

He pushed toward the warmth of the box housing. He closed the door, put the lock on. In addition to a knocker, facing the horrible possibility that that little one was dead and he could not bear it when he recognized it. His hands clutched at the cracked edge of the box, and he studied for the first time the faces of the boys, a tender face covered only by battered lenses, and by the wounds across his brow, his dry, livid lips were bruised , The dried blood accumulated on the edges of them, but a beam of life germinated from that mouth, a respiratory skeleton, a breath that gave him hope and made him feel uncomfortable, was the perfect neurosis.

He was alive, his lips modulating the sound of sound, he approached to check his pulse but the mere centimeters of him found an ocean of the expression caramel, some brown eyes between thick jet-lashes, What color was that? They were not brown, not gold, they were the color of life. His heart pounded, causing palpitations that left him speechless.

Many times he has laughed at such drama. After all, after such an internal uproar. And also. - has been chosen, undamaged, resolved, sniffing at the tone of the eyes of a stranger ...

Splendid, unique, it glowed with its own light.

A true luminous angel.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Yuuri is IN the box.   
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
